


It's Raining Somewhere Else

by kareofbears



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Phone Calls & Telephones, but i didnt intend for that, but it can be if you want, it doesnt have to be seen as post inifnity war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 17:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17871458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kareofbears/pseuds/kareofbears
Summary: The guilt in his chest intensifies. It’s always there, fluctuating constantly. It’s been months since he hasn’t woken up feeling like it’ll suffocate him.Three months and thirteen days, to be exact.“This is Tony Stark. I obviously can’t answer you right now, since I’m very busy. If it’s actually important, call Pepper Potts instead. Bye.”-Or, a character study on how Peter handles grief through a phone call





	It's Raining Somewhere Else

It's raining again. 

Peter’s sitting on top of the head of a lion beneath the roof of an aged, concrete building, overlooking Queens. He shifts back a little, letting the lip of the stone roof shelter him from the light rain, but allows his legs to straddle the lion, his feet dangling hundreds of meters from the ground. Rain during patrol was never really fun, taking a moment to wait it out. It’s better this way too. It was just insufferable. At least he can admire the scent of petrichor that surrounded him. 

Absentmindedly rubbing the stone platform he was sitting on, he takes the time to appreciate the rough texture. The cool temperature of the stone behind him feels nice, and he lets his head fall back, taking note of how the excess water droplets feel when it’s rolling down his temple. 

His senses have been his saving grace, grounding him when it gets too much. His therapist would be proud.

Letting his eyes fall shut, the sound of the city takes over him. The honking of the cars, the pitter-patter of soft rain from above him. If he focuses, he can hear the birds fly, to a place much higher than the building he was nestled in. Their wings, soaked in water, flap heavily in the thundering weather. The people below him, chatting and laughing to themselves, ignorant of the teenager that was eavesdropping on them. The cars below him honk, tires rolling smoothly on concrete. Someone turns their key in the ignition, and the engine stutters for a second, before it’s powered properly.

His eyes snap open, a familiar, nasty feeling settling in his gut again. The weirdest things set him off lately. 

He lifts his hand and tugs off his mask. This high up, being spotted wasn’t likely. Fresh air hits him, and he inhales greedily. 

A vibration from his pocket interrupts his thoughts. Text from May. He ignores it, feeling only a little guilty. She’d always get nervous when he goes on patrol, but now it’s turned up to eleven. He understands. She’s just grasping on to the things she appreciates. Peter should have learned to do that sooner. 

A cool breeze blows through his hair. It’s been rough lately. May tries her best. She wakes him him gently in the mornings for school, makes breakfast for him before she goes to work, and always stays up late in the night to make sure he has a lunch for school. Between all this, she takes double shifts at work to keep food on the table. The same food he throws up regularly throughout the day. 

The guilt in his chest intensifies. It’s always there, fluctuating constantly. It’s been months since he hasn’t woken up feeling like it’ll suffocate him.

Three months and thirteen days, to be exact.

The sound of a crack reaches his ears. Looking down, a small piece of stone from the lion is in his hand. Its tooth. He broke it off the statue without even realizing it.

A part of him is scared; he hasn’t been able to have a grip on his powers, emotions too much for him to handle. He doesn’t know how many plates he’s broken, or how many dents are left when he’s done opening his locker. The rest of him, though, doesn’t care. He truly does _not_ care. But he does. 

It’s hard to explain, but his therapist tells him he’s making sense anyway. Pepper decided to fund his therapy, despite his protests. But even May, who hates being the victim of charity, insisted he should accept her generosity. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't have said yes. But she's a special case. If anyone could understand him, it'd be Pepper Potts. 

It’s not even that he’s sad all the time - though, there are plenty of nights with soaked pillows that’ll tell him otherwise, - it’s that he just can’t seem to feel the _right_ thing. It’s as if the world kept spinning without him, taking all sense with it. 

Peter opens his hand, letting the tooth fall down onto the city, vaguely hoping it doesn’t hit someone in the head. 

Taking a deep breath, he pulls out his phone. It’s Friday night. It’s time. And he’s nothing if not consistent. 

He goes to his speed dial list, thumb hesitating before pressing down. Bringing the phone to his ear, the sound of the ongoing ringing leaves him hopeful. He loathes it. He wants to punch himself, kick himself until he bleeds. Despite his self loathing, it doesn’t matter how hard he tries, hope never leaves his heart.

It goes to voicemail. Tears pricks at his eyes, which he furiously blinks away. Come on, you idiot. Stop crying. You've been doing that enough. 

_“This is Tony Stark. I obviously can’t answer you right now, since I’m very busy. If it’s actually important, call Pepper Potts instead. Bye.”_

The phone beeps. Hearing his voice brings an onslaught of emotions, as usual. Forcing a smile, he starts.

“Hey Mr. Stark.” The hand clutching his phone stopped shaking three weeks and five days ago. A bit of pride twinged in his heart.

“It's Peter again. Parker. Giving you the weekly report.” Hating the sound of his own voice, he pauses. Talking is rare lately, and these phone calls are the only one who hear him regularly. 

Before this all happened, Mr. Stark decided to bypass Happy, opting to listen to his little reports directly. Peter remembers grinning like an idiot when Mr. Stark had suggested it, fumbling a yes before really thinking about it. 

“I stopped a purse snatcher. I actually found the owner of it, for once. A nice lady. She hugged me, which never happens.” Another pause. He almost chastises himself for revealing such a stupid detail, before remembering that it doesn't really matter. A shaky inhale goes through him, before breathing it out slowly. 

“I got an A on my chem midterm. May was really proud of me. Went out to get Chinese.” The memory flashes, the nearly silent dinner only interrupted by May’s feeble attempts at making conversation, hopeful that Peter would respond. The guilt in his chest grows. 

Silence stretches out, with Peter trying to think of what to say. 

Does it matter? 

No. It really doesn't. 

Apparently, he should stop doing these phone calls. ‘You can't move forward if you keep coming back to the past, Peter.’ He’s not an idiot. He knows. Of course he knows. 

Doesn't make this suck any less though. 

“I… I miss you, Mr. Stark.” Letting his eyes slip close, he focuses on the rain again. It's slowing down a little. Maybe he can get some more patrol in before he goes to bed. He should try and sleep early tonight. He and Ned made plans tomorrow. They haven't done that in awhile. Ned was ecstatic; he already bought an insane amount of junk food to go along with a new BB-8 Lego set. Peter’s already feeling the fatigue of having to talk, but Ned’s been really patient with him, which he's eternally grateful for. It’s only right for him to put in the same effort.

“It's been...tough. Pepper and I still meet up every once in awhile, don't worry. She's tough, but I know you'd want me to keep checking up on her. Though, I’m pretty sure she's the one checking up on me.” He gives a small laugh, a small smile left in its wake. 

“We actually tried to learn the piano a little.” The memory of Pepper’s tears hitting the keys were blurry from Peter’s own. The smile slips from his features.

“It didn't really work out.”  
“Happy’s doing good too. We’ve been, well, not really, but kind of... friends?” That was unexpected, but Peter supposes that in times like these, people need each other. Happy still tends to ignore him when he's driving, but he's a lot more attentive of him. The calls he used to leave to voicemail now almost always pick up by the second ring. It's nice. 

“I'm trying to do better. Don't worry, I'm still taking care of the suit. Karen’s been keeping me company. “ 

His favorite person lately has been Karen, which is strange considering she's not really a person. She never prods. She never treads carefully with him. It's just the same mildly mechanical voice he hears whenever the mask is on. He's always frustrated with everyone else, too afraid he might shatter. But Karen isn't afraid, can't be afraid. Leaning on her was more helpful than anything he could've hoped.

Mr. Stark unintentionally left behind bits of happiness for him to lean on, scattered where he least expects it. 

“I have a few ideas for the suit, if that's okay with you. I’m not gonna go through with it, but it'd be cool to get your input on it?” 

So deathly afraid of messing with the suit, he hasn't done any upgrades on it. This also means that he’s been extra careful not to get injured, which makes Happy sigh out of relief. 

For awhile, Peter didn't even use it, opting for his Mark 1 or just not going out at all. He couldn't get in it without either sobbing or threatening to throw up. The memories in the suit are too much for him, unable to stomach the whirlwind of emotions.

The one time he wore it again, some guy came at him with a knife during patrol. The first thing that came to mind was a tiny scream. 

_“Not the suit!”_

He took it off, and didn't get in for another month. He couldn’t force himself, even if his life depended on it. 

If he loses the suit, _his_ suit, he can't even fathom it. 

Every day that he didn't use it, the guilt multiplied. He's just wasting Mr. Stark’s hard work, throwing it all away. What kind of brat would do that? How _dare_ he do that? His mind raced, repeating itself like a broken record. It stacked up, higher and higher like a wobbling Jenga tower on the verge of collapse. 

Until one night, filled with clouds and the faint scent of rain, he pushed himself to go out the window.

This was the first night he slipped it on again. 

When he’s met with silence over the phone, a numb feeling flooded into his heart, clenching it in a tight grip. Annoyance with himself followed thereafter. What did you expect, idiot? 

But he's just hopeful. And tired. He's tired of silence. But he can’t seem to hear any noise. 

“Anyway,” he continues, voice cracking slightly. Damn his youth. 

“It's nice talking to you again Mr. Stark. I hope you're… yeah.” 

Mr. Stark would have laughed at him. Still awkward as ever, even when talking to a dead man. Probably going to rewatch it on the Baby Monitor Protocol, for the hell of it. 

Clenching his eyes shut, he tries to hear anything over the sudden thundering heartbeat in his chest.

“Talk to you next week.” 

He quickly ends the call, feeling his heartbeat accelerate. He's not really sure why, but it happens every time, always when he's saying his goodbye. 

Maybe because he never got to say a proper goodbye when it mattered the most. 

His hands start to shake, and his vision blurs without warning. Remembering that night is too much. Not again. Shit. He can't breath. _He can't breath._

Counting backwards from a hundred, he forces himself to calm down. Calm down. Calm down. _Calm down._

Hot tears flow down before he can stop it. He angrily wipes it away, only for more to flow down relentlessly.

Gripping the lion’s forehead underneath him, he breathes quickly in an attempt to control the sobs. His fingers dig into the stone, clumps of it coming off as he grinds it into his hands. Blood starts to trickle in his palms, the rocks just sharp enough to cut. 

Tired. He's so _tired_. He thought that this was done, that this stage of his life filled with unrelenting grief and anxiety was done but it wasn't. He thought it left with Ben, because there couldn't possibly be anything close to Ben in this world. 

And he's still right. Nothing can compare to his uncle. 

But he wasn't expecting Tony’s to just walk into his life, his living room, all designer sunglasses and annoying quips. 

Peter, the idiot, never saw it coming. 

And when he saw the life draining from Tony’s eyes, he felt like he was fourteen again, holding Ben in his arms. 

Letting go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding, he inhales sharply, air shooting into his lung. That's better. Crying always makes him feel a little better, but never enough to relieve him.

He sits for a few minutes, allowing the tears to dry on his face. Wiping it with the back of his hand, he realized that the rain stopped. He didn’t have an excuse to be hiding under the roof anymore. Of course, he knows it’s going to rain again. But for now, he doesn’t have a reason to be here. He has to go.

Peter wasn't going to get better anytime soon. No. It's going to suck. It does suck. And he hates it. Moving and breathing and _living_ makes him gag. 

He hears a siren go off in the distance. Taking a deep breath, he stands shakily. Rain really has a pleasant scent to it. 

People need Spiderman. 

Putting on his mask, the lights flash and starts the calibration process. 

“Hello Peter,” a smooth voice chimes in. “I hope you’re doing well.”

“Hey Karen,” he offers a small smile, despite knowing she’d never be able to appreciate it. 

Looking down from his post, he takes a moment to appreciate the lights of the city. 

He jumps from the damaged lion head, relishes the free fall before shooting a web with a flick of his wrist. 

“Let’s get to work.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was a painful one to write, since I had to be sad to be able to write it, and being sad ain't fun. Totally worth it though I love my boys. If you have any feedback, compliments or criticism, please let me know! Thanks a billion for taking the time to read this :D


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